


heat/stroke

by honestground



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy, This is a crackfic and should not be taken seriously, heat exhaustion, with just a hint of Zelink because I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13341795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestground/pseuds/honestground
Summary: He’s wandering amongst the merchants in the town square, still somewhat lightheaded but enjoying the sensation of silk against his skin, when he hears it.Hero.(or, Link gets heat exhaustion and has sex with a hydromelon because reasons)





	heat/stroke

**Author's Note:**

> I have no real excuse for this but in my own defense it was requested, so. Based off the [somewhat infamous artwork of Link in the vai outfit fucking a hydromelon](https://honestground.tumblr.com/post/162046074073/ummmm-care-to-share-that-link-x-hydromelon-pic) posted by an anon on 4chan. Enjoy I guess?

The sky is blue, the sand is dry, and Gerudo Desert is sweltering.

After the long, arduous trek through the desert, being denied entry to Gerudo Town had been a heavy blow. Had he been hydrated enough to produce tears, Link thinks he might have cried—but as it was, he had trudged back to Kara Kara Bazaar and spent the rest of the morning lying in the shade with his shirt off, head spinning and begging the sky for rain. 

It had been half boredom, half curiosity that had made him climb the ladder to the top of the bazaar, and it was there that he had found his salvation. He’d been so heat-addled that he’d forked over almost half his rupees for the getup, but the gamble had paid off; the guards hadn’t given him a second glance as he’d traipsed through the town entrance. 

He’s wandering amongst the merchants in the town square, still somewhat lightheaded but enjoying the sensation of silk against his skin, when he hears it.

 _Hero_. 

Link pauses. Waits. Convinces himself it was just a trick of the wind. Then—

 _Hero_.

Louder, this time. Closer. Link starts moving again, almost chasing it. The voice gets louder and louder until—

_Hello, hero._

Link stares. Looks up at the merchant’s sign above the stall. And then back down to the source of the voice.

It’s a hydromelon. Dark green and a little bruised, set aside from the others, but somehow beckoning to him, the glint of the desert sun reflecting off its thick rind.  _Buy me, hero,_ it says, and Link shrugs and pulls out his money bag. 

“This one, please,” he says, pointing. 

“Ah,” the merchant says. “That one’s no good—fell off the cart this morning.” She reaches out for it. “Why don’t you—”

“No.” Link closes his hands over the melon in an inexplicable surge of protectiveness. “This one. How much?”

The Gerudo woman looks slightly taken aback at his enthusiasm. Then she says, “Sixteen rupees.”

Link frowns. “You said it was no good.”

“You want it that bad?” The merchant shrugs. “Seventeen rupees.” 

Link scowls, but tosses her a red gemstone and scoops the melon off the stand. “Keep the change.” 

The hydromelon now in his possession, Link is suddenly overcome by a dire need for privacy, and he hurries down a nearby alleyway. It feels nice in his hands, he thinks; warmed slightly by the sun on the surface, but still a slight chill emanates from within. It seems to pulse slightly, just like the Sheikah orbs. It must have a quest for him, he realises. 

“All right,” he says to the melon, once he’s alone. “Do you have something for me?”

_Oh, yes, hero. I’ve waited for you for a very long time._

“Great,” Link says impatiently. “What do I need to do?”

 _I need you to take me, hero_. 

“Take you where?”

 _No, hero. Take me._ _I’m nice and cool and wet inside. What better way to quench your thirst, hero?_

Link warily holds the hydromelon at arms’ length. This is a joke. Someone has to be messing with him. Link looks around, but the alley is deserted. He levels his gaze at the melon again. 

“You want me to… eat you?” Link asks uncertainly.

 _Oh, no, hero. I don’t want to be inside you_ , the melon says.  _I want_ you _inside_ me.

Oh. 

Oh, what the  _fuck_. 

“No,” Link says. 

 _Take me, hero_ , the melon says, with a note of finality.  _Make me yours, and you will be rewarded._

And it falls silent, leaving Link feeling oddly abandoned, dressed in women’s clothing and slightly perturbed at having just been instructed by some higher power to boff a hydromelon. 

Link huffs, resigned. In his wealth of experiences, he’s had stranger requests from stranger sources and this is hardly complex. And he’s been following instructions from a voice in his head since the day he woke up, so… fine. Whatever. He shifts the weight of the hydromelon to one hand and pulls a knife from his belt with the other. 

It takes just a few moments to carve a hole that’s… roughly big enough. Link discards the excess, glances around again to ensure he’s alone, then shrinks back into the shadows as far as he can. 

“I must be out of my mind,” he mumbles, and tugs his sirwal down just far enough to free himself. 

He’s embarrassed to admit that it takes only a few quick tugs to get himself to full mast, but he supposes it has been a while. Checking one more time that he’s definitely alone, he lines himself up with the opening he sculpted and carefully eases inside.

His first thought is that it’s jarringly cold, and Link hisses a little with shock. He stills for a moment, trying to get used to the temperature and texture. It’s not a hand, or a mouth, or anything close to the warm embrace of another person, but it’s fine. Doable.

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.” 

Hating himself a little, slightly disgusted with what he’s doing, he starts to thrust.

He moves slowly at first. The flesh of the fruit isn’t as soft as he’d like, but the more he moves, the easier it gets. It’s warming up a little from the friction and heat of his own body, and the juices actually feel pretty pleasant. It’s… nice, in a way. Almost refreshing. 

Link finds himself stifling a moan.

Okay. So maybe he isn’t hating this. Maybe the melon in his hands is roughly the shape and size of a person’s head, so maybe, if he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, he can imagine the caress of soft lips and a warm tongue, the tightness of a throat swallowing around him, can imagine golden hair and green eyes and—

He moans out loud this time, hips rolling up, pushing himself further into the melon. There’s sticky juice all over him, leaking down and between his legs, but Link can’t bring himself to care. His head falls back against the wall, gasping under his veil. He feels hot all over, and not just from the desert sun; the heat is in his belly, his chest, the base of his spine. 

He’s open-mouthed and panting—short, high keening noises catching in his throat. It’s embarrassing just how loud and desperate he is, the circumstances of the release he’s currently chasing. This has gone beyond necessity, beyond imagining that his hips are flush against skin, something feral taken root in his body and mind that makes his pelvis snap forward so hard the rind begins to crack.

He’s found a steady rhythm now, any hesitation or misgivings gone, or maybe just lost in the pulse of blood through his body that both begins and ends at his groin. He’s getting close, thinking of a slim waist and generous hips, hair falling over one shoulder as she gets on her hands and knees, and he wonders—would she be this wet? Would she taste as sweet?

Link groans, thrusting forward with finality—one, two, three times—and feels himself go over. 

He spends himself inside the melon, shuddering and clutching it to him as he curls in on himself and moans. He leans back against the wall afterwards, chest heaving, his nipples peaked under the silk of his chemise, feeling warm and liquid and pleasant until he realises exactly what he’s done.

He’s already softening when he withdraws, making a small puddle of fruit juice and fluids at his feet. Grimacing at the mess and stickiness, Link pulls up his sirwal again, and has barely tucked himself away when the world starts to spin.

Everything around him is a haze of heat and colour, the desert sun suddenly much brighter than it was moments ago. He tries to steady himself against the wall, hand slapping uselessly against the sandstone, and as he stumbles the hydromelon slips from his grip—

—and smashes on the ground.

“No,” Link says weakly.

He crouches down and tries to piece it back together, but his previous efforts have effectively reduced the insides of the fruit to slush. He still feels dizzy, so he gives up, sitting on the ground with his head between his knees. 

So much for being rewarded. 

Link stays like that until the skin of his shoulders begins to prickle from sunburn and he starts to genuinely worry about resulting tanlines. He forces himself to his feet, casts one last look at the remains of the hydromelon, then guiltily abandons the mess and heads for the town square again. 

He sits in the shade by one of the fountains and splashes water on his face and chest, fighting lightheadedness and nausea. He must look worse than he thought because a kind-looking merchant brings him a small bag of ice and offers to sell him a chilly elixir. 

“I’ll be okay,” he says, gratefully taking the bag and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Thanks for this, though.  _Sarqso_ , I mean.” 

The woman nods. “Take care of yourself. Heatstroke is lethal out here,” she says. “It can cause delirium—hallucinations and the like.”

Link pauses, remembering the voice. Remembering the promise of a reward. Remembering the hydromelon carcass probably currently baking in the desert sun. Trying to ignore the stickiness between his legs and the rush of hot disgust that curls in the pit of his belly. Hallucinations, he thinks. No kidding. 

“Actually—” He pulls out his money bag. “How much for that elixir?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading if you got this far lmao


End file.
